


blink first

by jedusaur



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Light Dom/sub, M/M, Unnegotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-05 15:20:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18368732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jedusaur/pseuds/jedusaur
Summary: "Close your eyes," he says.Bruce complies immediately, so fast Clint feels a little off-balance. He breathes in deep through his nose. He wants this, he lets himself realize.





	blink first

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just... goin through some stuff rn, mkay >.>

Clint discovers it entirely by accident. Bruce is starting to lose his shit, and they're in an elevator, which means Bruce losing his shit would be very bad for everyone, so Clint panics and says, " _Stop it._ "

He's not expecting it to work. Later, in retrospect, he's surprised it didn't make the situation worse. But Bruce's trembling stills. He looks Clint straight in the eye, and Clint has never lost a staring contest in his life, so he doesn't really register the physical signs of the transformation fading. All he sees is Bruce's face, slowly shifting from agitation to calm.

Bruce breaks the eye contact by dropping his gaze to the floor. It feels like something, the fact that he's looking down but his face and body are still oriented toward Clint. It feels somehow significant. Clint's not sure what the feeling is, but it's there, and he doesn't think it's just him.

Tony, as usual, ruins it. "Great, glad we dodged those headlines. You gotta teach me that trick, Barton."

Clint doesn't even know what it is he did, but regardless, he wouldn't have said anything. Not now, with Bruce there and fragile.

Later, though. He's going to have to say something later.

*

He doesn't. Bruce doesn't, either. They leave it there between them, untouched, unexamined. All they do is make a little more eye contact than they used to. It's definitely something.

More than a month later, Clint sees Bruce about to pour the last of the coffee into his mug and shouts, "NO!"

He means it as a joke, ha ha Hawkeye drinks too much coffee, but it comes out too sharp for that, and Bruce slams the carafe down on the counter in surprise. For a moment they both process each other's reactions, and then Bruce picks the carafe back up and offers it with one hand, his empty mug with the other.

Clint takes them. Pours the coffee. Sets the carafe down in the sink. Pauses a moment. Hands the mug to Bruce. Silently, Bruce accepts it and stands there holding it, like he's waiting for permission to drink.

It's weird. Clint has no idea what it is. He likes it. No, it's fucking weird. He leaves, letting Bruce decide whether to drink his stupid coffee, and he doesn't think about it anymore.

*

The Hulk changes back into Bruce amid the remnants of Fifth Avenue, and Clint doesn't even consider whether he wants to be seen as the one to go to him. He tosses his jacket over Bruce's midriff, kneels next to him, and murmurs, "I've got you."

Bruce isn't changing again, but it's the same as what happened on the elevator: his focus locks on Clint, and he relaxes. Clint watches him close his eyes, and feels the weight of his trust.

He doesn't know what to make of it. He doesn't know what to make of any of this. But right now he needs to get Bruce to safety and clothing. They can talk about it later if they need to.

*

They need to. They don't.

Clint brings Bruce to his place, which is a wreck, but Bruce isn't conscious enough to care. Clint tucks him into his own bed, tosses some baggy clothes on top of him, and retreats to hang out in the kitchen scrolling through dog memes. There are way too many cat memes on the internet and not nearly enough dog memes, in Clint's opinion.

Twenty minutes later Bruce wakes up and comes out in the clothes Clint left for him, with a face that looks like he wants to say something but isn't sure how. "Don't talk," Clint says, more a defense against awkward apologies than anything, but Bruce immediately relaxes again, and this time he's not breaking eye contact.

Hawkeye doesn't lose staring contests. Inch by inch, he moves closer to Bruce. Reaches out to the T-shirt caught under Bruce's arm. Tugs it down to cover the exposed skin of his hip.

Bruce's gaze drops. Yeah. It's something.

"You feeling okay?" Clint asks.

Bruce nods, still obeying the directive not to talk. Clint's guts heat up a few degrees for no logical reason.

Clint's finger is still hooked in the hem of Bruce's shirt. Clint's shirt, that Bruce is wearing. The idea of it sparks something else deep inside. "You need to be anywhere?" Clint asks.

Bruce shakes his head. Tentatively, he glances up at Clint. He has that look on his face again, like he's waiting. The bags under his eyes are like war trenches.

"Come on," says Clint. He leads Bruce back to his bed and lies down with him. No funny business, he decides. If that's where this is heading, it probably shouldn't head there an hour after Bruce uprooted a tree in Central Park. He just... doesn't like seeing Bruce so tired. Clint spends a lot of time fucking shit up and very little time fixing anything. This feels like something he can fix.

"Close your eyes," he says.

Bruce complies immediately, so fast Clint feels a little off-balance. He breathes in deep through his nose. He wants this, he lets himself realize.

Bruce's hand reaches toward him a little, a small enough movement that Clint could pretend not to see it. He doesn't pretend. He wraps Bruce's fingers in his own and watches him fall asleep.

*

Clint is still awake when Bruce wakes up for the second time, hours later. Clint pulls his hand away, suddenly much less sure, but Bruce's fingers chase after it; not much, not enough to register as a protest, just enough to make Clint sure.

Bruce is staring at him again, trusting him again, waiting. Clint doesn't blink, he's never the one who blinks, but he has to be the one to lean forward and bring their lips together. He might not know much about what this is, but he does know Bruce isn't going to close that gap.

Bruce lets out a sigh of relief against Clint's mouth and kisses back eagerly. Clint is halfway through letting out his own breath before he realizes he's been holding it.

*

"Stop it," Clint says. Bruce's hand falls away from his dick.

Clint runs his fingers through Bruce's hair, massaging around the back of his head where he gets tense. Bruce's eyes fall closed. The bags under his eyes are much less dark now.

Clint touches Bruce's mouth. Bruce opens it to suck in his fingers, but Clint says, "No," and he instantly closes it again, letting Clint just touch. His lips are a little chapped, his scruff scratchy around the edges, the ridge of his cheekbone smooth. Clint takes his time feeling the different textures of him.

"Suck me," says Clint, and Bruce's mouth finds his dick like a magnet, eyes still closed. Clint watches him, transfixed. He's not beautiful, that's not what he is, but that's not what they need to be. All they need to be is this.


End file.
